Diary of a Campervan
Travelling in the camper has taught us never to underestimate a stranger's advice.
Some of the most beautiful places we've discovered haven't come from guidebooks, Google searches or carefully planned itineraries.
They've come from conversations.
Someone will mention a beach, a little road, a place to park or somewhere they once stayed and say, “You should go there.”
And quite often, we do.
That's exactly how we found ourselves on a remote beach in Ireland this week.
A day or so earlier, we'd met a woman who took her elderly father to the beach each afternoon. She would sit and read her book while he walked down to the shoreline.
We got talking and told them about our travels.
Her father suggested a hidden beach where we could park for the night.
So we followed his directions.
It was still quite early in the day when we arrived.
We'd parked the van and were sitting on a rock watching the masses of seagulls when a car pulled up.
An elderly gentleman got out and sat on a rock next to us.
And we started talking.
I don't remember exactly how the conversation began.
Perhaps that's the lovely thing about conversations with strangers. There is no introduction. No need to explain who you are or what you do.
Sometimes it simply starts with the obvious.
In this case, the seagulls.
He began telling us about the area.
He talked about the fishermen who had once worked those waters and the people who had lived and made their livelihoods along that stretch of coastline.
He pointed towards the seaweed lying thickly around the rocks and washed up along the beach.
He explained that years ago the local farmers would collect the seaweed and take it back to their fields, using it to fertilise the land.
I watched him as he riffled through his memories and smiled at the thoughts. He was softly spoken and watched intently when we replied. He would pause and smile, then drift back into his memories.
And that's what I loved about talking to him.
For those few minutes, we weren't simply looking at a beautiful Irish beach.
We were seeing it through the eyes of somebody who knew it.
He was absolutely glorious.
There was no rush to the conversation. No agenda. Just an elderly gentleman sharing pieces of a place he knew, and two strangers who were interested enough to listen.
I asked if there was a pub nearby that he would recommend because it was Andy's birthday.
He suggested somewhere and then reached out and shook Andy's hand, wishing him a happy birthday.
We thanked him and started to leave.
Then he reached out and shook my hand too.
He looked me in the eyes and said,
“You're a lovely young lady who's taken the time to talk to me. And for that, I'm really grateful.”
And something about those words stayed with me.
They made me happy.
And they made me sad.
In equal measure.
Because I'd been thinking that he had given something to us.
Yet somehow, he seemed to think we had given something to him.
We had listened.
That's all.
We'd stopped for a while and listened.
It made me wonder how many people go through their days without anybody really listening to them.
How many stories are sitting quietly inside people we pass in supermarkets, cafés, bus stops and little coastal car parks?
But some of my favourite memories from our camper travels aren't necessarily the spectacular views.
They're the conversations.
The unexpected recommendations.
The people whose names I never even asked.
People who wander briefly into our lives and then disappear again.
We will probably never see that gentleman again.
I don't know his name.
I don't know where he went when he drove away from that beach.
And he knows almost nothing about us.
As we drove away, we passed him still sitting on the rock where we'd left him.
I felt a sudden surge of sadness.
Yet for a small part of an ordinary day, our lives crossed.
He reminded me that there is enormous value in simply giving somebody your attention.
Not because you want anything from them.
But simply because another person has a story to tell.
Perhaps that's one of the loveliest things about travelling.
You set off looking for places.
And every now and then, if you're lucky, you find people instead.
And sometimes a chance encounter with a stranger stays with you far longer than the places you travelled to see.
Before you go...
If this story has moved you in any way, perhaps today you'll pass someone who might be in need of a conversation.
Why not try starting with a simple, “Hello. Beautiful day, isn't it?”
And then give them the space to reply.
You never know where a simple hello might lead — or just how much it might mean to someone.
You can find more stories, reflections and more from my Diary of a Campervan here at Tenacious Wellness.
www.tenaciouswellness.co.uk